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Old March 13, 2013, 05:16 PM   #9 (permalink)
Redwulf
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Join Date: Mar 2013
Location: London
Posts: 8
Redwulf is unknown and forgotten
Redwulf stalked the night like a houndish death.

At first, he’d simply followed the two constables as they strolled. At first, he found it easy to keep his original purpose firmly in mind. He’d hung back, swept his gaze about, smelled the air, trying to learn everything about this Jasmine district with its odours of wealth and power and fine food. The two constables, keeping confidently to the centre of a wide street, were easy to follow and Redwulf had no trouble using this simple diversion as a way to learn the area.

Did the moon call for the Hunt? Did that pale eye, glimpsed between two gloomy mansions, bring forth a terrible canine single-mindedness?

Redwulf didn’t quite remember quite how or why, but as he followed, he became more and more interested in the Hunt. The two constables strolled on, and Redwulf’s jaw clamped. Crouching lower, keeping to inky shadows, he eased closer. His lips raised barely, not even a half-snarl. His eyes narrowed. He inhaled deep, seeking the scent of the constables and blocking everything else. Eased closer. Quiet now, quiet. An olfactory tunnel – no scent mattered now, no scent was possible but that it led closer to the constables. Once, a constable seemed to glance back, feeling the back of his own neck to smooth raised hairs, but Redwulf merely oozed his crouch into the inky shadow of a gatehouse before the constable’s eyes even turned.

He’d had no intention of violence. His canine instinct for tracking prey, not killing it, was at work. The important part of this game was to be close, closer than the prey thought possible, as close as could be without raising suspicion. It was an almost trance-like state for Redwulf, total fixation on the Hunt, the Chase, the primal feeling of being the hunter.

It was easy at first, while the constables kept to the open, but at one point they turned down a narrow avenue. Redwulf, keeping cautiously back, had followed. The constables, somehow already at the far end of a long wall, were turning again. Redwulf had to move fast to keep up. When he got there, he pulled back in surprise for the pair were very close, though his nose hadn’t warned him. Looking again, he realised his mistake, for while the two constables were again turning down another lane between two trees, two nearly-identical shadows were cast onto a near wall by the moon shining through a weathervane. He shook himself, and kept his mind on the Hunt. Only the Hunt. Hunt.

And so it went on. Turn after turn, Redwulf sometimes close but never close enough, though he strained every sinew of silence he had to stay quiet. He thought of nothing but the Hunt, even as he had to avoid long tree branches in his path. With the scent of the constables ahead, he slipped around a thorn bush. A muddy rivet almost tripped him as he pushed his way, following the scent, following, following... to... nothing. Redwulf tore at vines around him, sniffing the air but getting only the musky, deathly air of stagnant woodland.

Vines?? He looked around. Where in hell had he come? How had he lost them?

Stepping forward, Redwulf’s foot hit a wet obstacle that made a sound like a wet sack. Looking around and smelling the air, he reached and dragged the object toward a patch of moonlight between two trees.
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